


you burn me

by Evedawalrus



Series: Minimegs Week 2019 [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evedawalrus/pseuds/Evedawalrus
Summary: Assorted poetry themed around Minimus and Megatron.Written for Day 2: Poetry/Music





	1. Chapter 1

_ you burn me _

Sappho says.

The trace of your fingers leaves burning trails

Beds of leaves gathered below trees

that stand alone, cast shadows,

take thousands of years to grow before they are eventually felled by a kind hand.

_ How do forest fires start? _

Lightning, mostly. A touch too close, a kiss–

Here, in this lonely forest, lips hover over the small of my back

and there is a crackle of something below the leaves.

You hit me

and I do not move.

A thousand years later, You hit me

and it hurts. Pieces of me flit away

and I am felled by your kind hand.

I wrap the pain with other touches

Hands around my hips, dancing to this frantic music,

locked in my own room. Watch me dance. I want to make you smile. 

I want you to kiss me

and make it burn.


	2. Chapter 2

they dream of each other in separate rooms

two doors down, three

steel walls between them.

Megatron dreams 

of holding. Holding up, holding close, holding tight. Minimus dreams 

of being kissed. He dreams of low light, and quiet mornings, rolling 

over to the blanket of an embrace and feeling 

at home in his skin 

wherever those lips touch him.

Minimus is restless. He gets up 

and paces, turns and tosses, reads 

and frets. Megatron lies there, silent. He stares at the glow 

of his own optics, cast on the ceiling 

of his room. He wishes the red was brighter. He wishes 

and he aches, quietly.

They stare at each other in turns. 

Each imagines what it would be like 

to slide their palms up the slope 

of the other’s back, map out and memorize 

the arrangement of seams on their bodies. They ache to touch each other.

Minimus dreams of kissing him raw. Megatron dreams of being his armor.

They dream of each other in the same room 

one locked door, two 

steel walls between them.


End file.
